


Birthday

by EASchechter



Series: On his Brother-in-Law's Secret Service. [13]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV), The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:50:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EASchechter/pseuds/EASchechter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not the surprise that Martin was expecting for his thirty-fifth birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Livvy tossed her bag onto the table and hurried to the lift. Edmund and the other house staff were enjoying an evening off, and Violet was now happily enjoying the afternoon with one set of grandfathers, and would be spending the night with the other set. Which mean that Livvy now had the afternoon to herself, and would be able to get herself ready to surprise Martin for his birthday. His flight was due to land in an hour, which meant that she had just under two hours to shower, dress, and get to the airport to meet him. Anthea would be here in an hour, with Martin's birthday present, and would be taking Livvy to the airport. So there was no time to waste.

In the bedroom, Livvy stripped quickly, and headed into the bathroom. Her clothes for the evening were hanging ready in the closet, dinner reservations had been made, and a room at the Four Seasons booked for the night. Livvy smiled as she stepped into the shower -- this was going to be the first time she'd attempted kidnapping her own husband, and she was rather looking forward to it.

A long, hot shower was a rare luxury in a house with a toddler, even if there was a nanny and an adoring butler to look after her. Livvy had to remind herself that she was on a schedule, shutting the water off with a sigh. There could be another hot shower later, she told herself. In company. Livvy smiled at the thought as she wrapped a large towel around herself, squeezing the water out of her hair with a second towel. The first time she'd showered with Martin had been interesting -- he'd been in the shower, and hadn't expected her to join him. And she hadn't realized he could turn quite that red over quite that much of his body. They'd ended the evening giggling, which was always a good thing.

Humming, she walked out into the bedroom, wrapping her wet hair in a towel. She checked the time and smiled. Still just over half an hour before Anthea got here. Good, she thought as she went to the closet.

The aerosol spray hit Livvy full in the face as she opened the door, and she was unconscious before she hit the floor.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 "... and thank you once again, Captain. Be sure to give my best to your wife."

"I'll do that. And thank you, Mister Birling. See you again next year," Martin said, pocketing the thick envelope that Mister Birling had slipped into his hand. He'd share it out amongst the rest of the crew later, before they headed off for the annual "Birling Day" dinner.

"Don't even think about splitting that up," Douglas murmured in his ear. "That's just your envelope. He passed one to me, too. And to Arthur. I saw it."

"Well, he is in a good mood this year, isn't he?" Martin whispered back. "After last year, I didn't think he'd be back at all."

"I think he's decided he likes you," Douglas said. "Now, let's go and compare notes... Martin."

The warning in Douglas' voice made Martin stop in his tracks, and he looked, first at Douglas, then in the direction that Douglas was looking.

"Mycroft?" Martin gasped. "What on earth... something is wrong. I... think I'm begging off dinner tonight, Douglas. Tell the others, will you?"

"Of course. Call and keep me posted. That's an order."

"Right." Martin walked down the steps to the ground, and headed towards the waiting black car, trying hard not to look as if he was panicking. And failing miserably, he was certain.

"Martin," Mycroft said. "In the car. I'll explain on the way."

"What's happened?" Martin asked as he climbed in. Mycroft got in on the other side and as the doors closed, the car started forward.

"There was a break-in, at the townhouse," Mycroft said. "Anthea went to pick Olivia up to come and meet you, and she discovered it. It's been no more than an hour."

"Oh, my God. Livvy? Vee? Are they all right?"

"Violet is with Mrs. Hudson, and being well and truly spoiled as we speak. She was spending the afternoon with Sherlock, John and James, but they are now at the townhouse."

Martin felt his entire world contract, heard his heart hammering in his ears. "And Liv?"

"Is missing." Mycroft looked at Martin, and Martin was shocked to see the worry on his face. "There is a message on your home answering machine that we want you to hear."

Martin swallowed and nodded, looking out the window. "Can we go any faster?"

#

The street was cordoned off, but one of the officers waved the car through the barricades. As they pulled up in front of the townhouse, Martin saw Greg Lestrade coming out the front door.

"Steady, Martin," Lestrade said in a low voice as Martin burst out of the car and started towards the door. "You can't go in yet."

"What happened?" Martin demanded. "What do you know?"

"So far, we know that Liv gave the house staff the night off. She had plans for you, for your birthday--"

"But that's not until tomorrow!"

"And she was starting tonight," Greg continued. "Anthea says that she had a special present for you, and a night out. We were supposed to keep Vee tonight."

"And?"

"And, it looks like whoever is behind this was waiting for Liv when she got back from dropping Vee off at Baker Street. Sherlock might have more by now, but he... well, he's in a bit of a state."

"How bad?" Mycroft asked.

"He's never gotten one of my officers to cry before."

"Oh, he didn't!" Mycroft sounded honestly shocked.

"He did. He got jumped on from both sides for it, too. He did apologize, and John is seeing to Cassidy. She's new to the Met. Never met Sherlock before."

Martin nodded absently, looking up. He frowned and pointed. "Mycroft!"

"I am aware."

"Who changed it?" Martin asked. That camera in particular was special -- it never pointed anywhere but at their front door.

"Mister Solo is looking in to that. I can assure you, it was not from inside the department."

"Which means that it was from inside the Met," Martin said softly.

"Yeah, I'm trying not to think too hard on that, that this may have been one of my people," Greg answered, equally quiet. He sighed, then looked up. "Come on. We have a message that you need to hear."

Martin followed Greg into the townhouse, and upstairs, passing other Met officers coming down. Greg led them into the drawing room. From the doorway, Martin could see the blinking light on the telephone.

"We've already heard it," Mycroft said. "We were here when it came in. And Mister Solo has been attempting to trace it."

Martin nodded, then walked over and pressed the button. The machine announced _You have one new message,_ then beeped. And, to Martin's surprise, he heard his brother's voice. Simon sounded panicked, out of breath, and his words came fast and nearly-jumbled as he spoke.

"Marty? Marty, are you there? Look, I know you don't want to talk to me. Please, pick up the phone. Please. Look, it wasn't my idea! I told them I didn't have the money, and I couldn't get the money, and they said... it wasn't my idea! I'm... I'm going to try and make sure she's okay. Just... do what they tell you. Okay? I'm sorry."

The machine beeped again, then announced the time and date of the call. Then it went still.

"Simon is involved in this?" Martin shook his head slowly. "How... I don't understand."

"His gambling debts. Remember?"

Martin looked up as Jim Moran came into the room. "You were there. Right."

Jim scratched behind his ear and nodded. "He probably mentioned to whoever he owes money to that he could get it from his little brother. And now... it's been, what? Three months? They're tired of waiting."

"So they kidnapped Livvy?" Martin asked.

Jim nodded. "Yeah." Then he grinned. "Sucks to be them, doesn't it? Come up. Sherlock is done tearing down the wallpaper."

"Tearing down..." Martin got up slowly. "You're joking, aren't you? Please tell me you're joking?"


	3. Chapter 3

 The wallpaper in the bedroom was untouched but that was about all Martin could swear to. The furniture had been overturned, and there were thing scattered everywhere.

"Did... they do this?" he asked, not wanting to enter the room.

"No," John answered. "No, Sherlock did this. Thankfully, after the Met had taken the photographs they needed."

Sherlock sniffed derisively, then held a towel out to Martin. "Smell this."

"Carefully!" John added.

Martin took the towel, noticing that it was still damp, and sniffed at it. There was a chemical... something. "What am I smelling?"

"What indeed?" Sherlock asked. "That small a towel, why? Too small for a bath towel, too large for a hand towel."

"Liv uses these on her hair," Martin answered, frowning.

"Ah." Sherlock nodded. "She's got her hair wrapped up. Goes to the closet... whoever it was is in the closet. Sprays the chemical into Livvy's face. Mycroft, will Doctor Kuryakin be able to analyze that?"

"Of course," Mycroft answered from behind Martin. "Greg, a bag, if you will?"

"Sure. Just go on and take all my evidence, why don't you?" Greg pushed past Martin and into the room, pulling out a large bag and taking the towel. "What else have you got?"

"Two attackers. Both of them in the closet. You can see the imprints of their shoes..." Sherlock disappeared into the closet, and Martin came the rest of the way into the room so that he could see. Inside the closet, Sherlock was kneeling, rubbing something between his fingers. He sniffed it, then frowned. "Dust. Lint. Paper lint."

"Surgical boots?" John suggested. Sherlock nodded.

"Whoever these two were, they knew what they were doing. Martin, give Mycroft your mobile."

Martin startled. "What?"

"Your mobile. Give it to Mycroft," Sherlock repeated.

"Why... oh. Because they'll most likely call either the house line or my mobile for the ransom, and you want to trace the call. I see." He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out his mobile, passing it to Mycroft.

"He'll be calling soon."

There was an odd note to Jim's voice, and Martin wasn't the only one who noticed. The entire room went silent as everyone turned to look at Jim, who was pointedly looking out the window. He let the curtains fall and turned to face them, a nervous-looking smile on his face.

"Jim?" Sherlock said softly.

"I wasn't sure, you know. Not until you mentioned the boots." He looked away. "His name is Philip. Philip Weston. I wondered, back when Simon was here, if it was one of his gambling rings. I thought I found them all. But I never did find Weston."

Martin swallowed hard. He'd heard... Livvy had _told_ him about Jim, about what he'd been before. "This man, the one who has my Liv. He's one of yours?"

"Was," Jim correctly quietly. "I'm sorry, Martin. I didn't expect my past to come up and bite us. I thought I'd cleared up the loose ends. I thought... I thought that it was over." He straightened and met Martin's eyes. "I know where he hides. Well, where he used to hide. I thought he was dead, though. I honestly thought he was dead."

"He is dead," John said, not looking up from his mobile. "Philip Henry Weston?" He glanced up to see Jim nod. "Died three years ago. Left behind a wife and two sons."

"What do you want to bet the sons went into the family business?" Greg asked. No one answered. Then Martin's mobile rang. He looked at Mycroft, who handed the mobile back to him.

"Answer it," he said. "On speaker, if you don't mind?"

Martin nodded and touched the screen. "Hello?"

"Hello, Sir Martin." Martin didn't recognize the voice, and he certainly didn't like the sound of it. "Your brother has made a bit of a mess for himself, I'm afraid. And you're going to need to clean up after him."

"Am I now?" Martin glanced at Greg, who nodded and gestured. It was clear what he meant: _keep talking_. "Why is that? If you know anything at all about my brother, you know I don't owe him a damned thing."

"Perhaps no. But he owes me a great deal of money. And he's told me that you have it. So... if you wouldn't mind?"

"I do mind," Martin snapped. "And I mind greatly that you've taken my wife."

"If you want her back safely, you'll pay."

"How do I know she's safe?" Martin asked. "I want to talk to her."

"I'm afraid she's having a bit of a nap right now," came the cheerful answer. "She's a pretty little thing, isn't she? Don't worry. I haven't touched her, and I won't. That's not my style. She's just insurance, so that you clean up Simon's mess."

"You know, you can do whatever you like to Simon. I honestly don't care," Martin said.

"Really? That's not what he told us." There was a moment of silence, and when the voice sounded again, it was obviously talking to someone else. "Did you lie to me? He says he doesn't care what happens to you."

"No! I didn't!" Even at a distance, the frightened, high-pitched voice clearly belonged to Simon. "He... he didn't say that!"

"He did. So I wonder if there is any benefit to keeping you."

The shot sounded very loud through the mobile, loud enough that Martin nearly dropped it. He fumbled, cursing softly, then barked. "Are you still there?"

"I am. Now, Sir Martin, there is only one card on the table. If you want your wife back, you'll pay me what your... late brother owed me. I'll send the details, and the information."

The call ended, and Martin stared at the silent mobile for a moment. Then he looked up, feeling a quiet calm settling over him.

"Whoever he is," he said softly. "I get to kill him."


	4. Chapter 4

 There was a moment of silence, broken finally a chime from Martin's mobile. A text, and a photo.

The photo was of Livvy, laying on her side on a narrow, rather-dirty looking cot, one wrist handcuffed to the frame. She appeared to be asleep, and she was wearing an overly-large man's t-shirt. Martin swallowed hard and opened the text without showing anyone the photo. And almost dropped his mobile.

"Half a million pounds?" he squeaked. "How in heaven's name did Simon end up owing them half a million pounds?"

The mobile was plucked out of his hands, and Sherlock looked at the text, frowning. "Jim?"

"We're not going to know that until we get our hands on the Weston boys," Jim answered. "I doubt that it all came from interest. He borrowed from them again, I'm sure."

"Or they've inflated it. Added in ransom," John added. "Do you think they know who they're facing?"

"If they did, they'd be pissing themselves." Jim took the mobile from Sherlock and touched the screen. He frowned fiercely and looked at Martin. "Can you find her? The way she found you?"

Martin licked his lips, frowned. "I... she's unconscious. I don't know. Maybe. I... I'll need a map. There's one in my workroom." He turned and headed for the door, then stopped. "I... don't want an audience, if you all don't mind."

"Right. We'll finish up here, then," John said gently. "Would you mind if Jim tagged along, though? He knows where Weston used to operate, he might be able to help narrow things down."

Martin considered, then nodded. "Just... no smart ass remarks, Jim. I'm not in the mood."

"I'm not in the mood to make them," Jim answered. "Where are we going?"

"Downstairs."

#

Martin turned on the lights and stepped out of the way to allow Jim into what Livvy called his sanctum. Jim walked into the large room, blinked, then nodded. "Where should I stand, and what should I do?" he asked.

"Ah..." Martin looked around, then pointed to a corner. "Over there? You'll be able to see, and you won't be in my way." He closed the door, then closed his eyes and rested his hand on it, pulling the shields that he'd set into the wood into place.

"May I ask questions?" Jim asked.

"Certainly."

"What did you just do? My ears popped."

Martin looked at him, surprised. "You felt that? I set the shields for the room."

"Interesting." Jim folded his arms over his chest and leaned back, saying nothing more. Martin ignored him, going to the cabinet and opening it.

"They're still in London?" he called over his shoulder.

"I expect so."

Martin nodded and pulled out a rolled map of London. He unrolled it on the table in the center of the room, holding the corners down with unlit candles. He stepped back, then went back to the cabinet, picking up a long chain and pendulum.

"Now, what I'm going to do is... well, do you know what dowsing is?" he asked.

"How they try and search for metals and water, yeah," Jim answered. "That what you're going to do?"

"I'm going to try. When... when Livvy found me, I was conscious. And trying to reach her." He licked his lips, trying not to think of that night. Of the fact that he might have to try and put Livvy back together after the same thing happened to her. Whatever Gods are listening, please don't let that happen? He looked over at Jim and knew that the other man was thinking the same thing. "I don't know if I'll be able to find her. But I'm going to try."

"Anything I can do to help?" Jim asked.

"Pray?" Martin suggested. Jim nodded soberly and pressed his fingers to his lips. Martin looked down at the table and waved one hand over the candles -- they flared to life as Martin tugged his wedding ring off his finger. He slid it over the pendulum's chain, then kissed it gently and held it over the map, concentrating on Livvy. On her smile, her laugh, her wicked sense of humor. On the way she always knew what he was thinking, and how he was feeling, and what he needed. On how much he needed her. The pendulum started to sway, pulling to the right, and Martin moved the pendulum in that direction. The swaying turned to circles, large ones that slowly spiraled inwards, forming a ever tightening circumference until, without warning, the chain snapped, and the sharp point of the pendulum buried itself in the map like a dart. Martin stared, then looked up to see Jim standing on the other side of the table, his mouth hanging open.

"I... think I found her," Martin said weakly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is going to be a short delay in updating, and I apologize. Next update will be Thursday 2/14 at the latest.


	5. Chapter 5

 He carried the map back up to the bedroom, spreading it out on the bed. "I have something," he announced. He tapped the hole in the map. "She's here. Manor Royal."

"You're sure?" Sherlock asked. "Jim, any connection?"

"No," Jim answered. "Weston worked out of Camden. And given the way that the... what did you call it?"

Martin glanced up. "The pendulum?"

"Yeah. It was like a dart," Jim said. "There's a hole in Martin's work table. If he says she's there, then she's there."

"Right, then. How do we do this?" John asked.

Martin stepped back, listening to the others talk about extraction, about whether or not the Met should be involved, or if there was time to bring Slayers in. Something was teasing at the edges of his thoughts. Something was wrong.

"Martin?"

He looked up as Mycroft called his name, and said, "Something isn't right."

Mycroft nodded. "You're right. I can see you haven't figured out the whole of it yet. But you're close."

"Wait, what?" John asked. "What did I miss?"

"It's a trap, John," Sherlock said, not looking up from the map. "But why, and for whom?"

Martin considered it, then sighed. "That call. They let it go on far too long," he said. "They wanted us to trace it."

"Very good," Mycroft murmured. "So, we can assume that they know we're coming. How can we turn this to our advantage? John?"

John glanced at him, then frowned, folding his arms over his chest. Martin watched, silently -- after a year of working with the department, he understood that this was John at his most dangerous. Finally, John nodded.

"Small team, Special Ops, if you can manage it. In and out as fast as possible, then take them down. Can we get schematics of that place?"

"Of course. I'll tell Mister Solo to have them waiting. Shall we?"

"Wait," Martin said. He went to the closet and stepped inside, pushing aside his dress shirts and opening a hidden panel in the wall to reveal a safe. His fingers danced over the keypad, and the lock beeped as the door opened. He reached inside and took out the Browning that John had given to him, along with the holster and a pair of magazines. One went into his pocket, the other he loaded into the gun, racking the slide before sliding the pistol into the holster. The holster went into place at the small of his back, and he was rebuttoning his uniform coat as he came out to join the others. John, he noticed, nodded once, as if he knew what Martin had done and approved.

"Shall we go?"

#

They left, leaving Greg behind to finish the Met's investigation and seal the house. In the back of Mycroft's car, sitting between John and Jim, Martin rubbed his forehead and pulled his mobile from his pocket.

"Martin, there you are!" Douglas exclaimed as he answered. "What is going on?"

"Still not completely sure, but Liv's been kidnapped, and Simon is..." Martin stopped, swallowed. "Simon is dead. And... look, can you and Helena take Violet tonight?"

"Tonight, and for as long as necessary. Never you worry."

Martin relaxed slightly. "Thank you, Douglas. She's with Mrs. Hudson at 221."

"Oh, in that case, I should head right over," Douglas said, sounding amusingly eager. "It's coming on tea time."

Martin snorted in spite of himself. "Enjoy the scones. Don't spoil her too much. I'll call when I know something more. And... Douglas?"

"Yes?"

"Stay alert."

"As if you even needed to tell me that," Douglas scoffed. He hung up, and Martin tucked his mobile back in his pocket.

"You're thinking they'll go after Violet?" Sherlock asked from the front seat.

"I don't know. But I think that I can't be too careful. Douglas will look after her like she's his own, and Vee knows them both."

"A good choice," Mycroft agreed. "I'll make certain that the Richardson house is kept under constant surveillance."

"Have you heard anything about that camera?" John asked.

"Nothing I like," Mycroft admitted. "From what Mister Solo can determine, the controls were changed from New Scotland Yard. James, did you have any... operatives inside the Met?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Jim asked. "Of course I did."

John snorted. "Names, Jimmy?"

"Why? He's dead. And, he had the computer skills of a orangutan."

Sherlock turned in his seat and looked back at Jim. "Who did he turn, I wonder? Because if he was a moron, he'd be of no use to you."

Jim scowled. "He was a set of ears to me. No more than that. If he turned anyone, it was on his own."

Sherlock turned back, and Martin could see his mobile in his hand. He was already typing. "What was the name, Jim?"

"Walther. Henry Walther."

#

"So we'll leave the housekeeping at the Met to Greg, for now," John said. "It will take us about an hour to get to Manor Royal. The team is me, Jim, Anthea--"

"Me," Martin said flatly. "I'm going."

"As am I," Sherlock added.

John looked from Martin to Sherlock and back. "I did say small."

"I can get you in without being seen," Martin said. "And I am going."

"An hour?" Sherlock said softly. "You said that it would take us an hour to get to Manor Royal. In the traffic at this hour, more like two. No?"

"That... sounds about right," John said slowly. "Have I missed something?"

"We all did," Sherlock snapped.

"No more than an hour, Mycroft said," Martin blurted out. "If it was no more than an hour..."

"How did they get Livvy to Manor Royal that quickly?" Sherlock finished.

Martin stared for a minute, then groaned. "They flew. They flew into Gatwick. Fifteen minutes to get from here to there. Half an hour if they had to wait for clearance."

"Napoleon--"

"Already working on Air Traffic Control, John," Napoleon said smoothly. "Let me see... small plane. Left Heathrow... about twenty minutes before your flight landed, Martin. Owners of record..." he stopped, turned around. "Patrick Weston, Henry Walther... and Simon Crieff."

Martin's mobile rang. He fumbled at his pocket and pulled it out, touching the screen. "Martin Crieff."

"You're quicker than I thought you'd be, to have found us this fast." The voice from the small speaker was the same voice as before.

Martin swallowed and looked around, then asked, "You... who are you, really? This didn't have anything to do with Simon and his gambling debts, did it?"

"Useful lure, don't you think? Got him into your house, got him to a place where he could see what he needed to to see. Helped us flush you out into the open."

"Flush me?" Martin gasped.

"Not you," the voice clarified. "The one who helped you find us. Isn't that right, Doctor Moriarty?"

Jim's eyes widened, and he shook his head. Martin didn't need the hint. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"You'd best figure it out, then. Because what we want has changed. You can keep your money, Sir Martin. We want Moriarty. Bring him to Manor Royal, and you can have your wife back."  


	6. Chapter 6

 The mobile went dead. Martin fumbled for a chair and sat down, hard. No one said anything for a long moment, until Sherlock finally cleared his throat and said, "It might have been good, Jim, if you'd told us in advance that Simon was one of yours?"

"He wasn't," Jim protested. "I'd never seen him before Violet's birthday! How he knew who I was is..." he stopped. Frowned. Licked his lip and cocked his head to one side. Then he quietly asked, "May I borrow a computer?"

"Of course," Napoleon said. He rose, and Jim took his place, scowling at the screen as he typed furiously. Then he leaned back and shook his head.

"John?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"Do you remember, when I came back, I told you that some one of the men who followed me might try to remake the network?" He turned around. "They did it. It's small, still. But they've rebuilt the network."

"Who?" Sherlock asked. Jim shrugged.

"Not enough data. I took out anyone who had the... the capacity to do what I'd done, to take over and rebuild. Which means that whoever this is, they weren't on my radar four years ago. So... an unknown variable."

"It... couldn't be Simon, could it?" Martin asked slowly. "I mean... we don't know he's dead. I assumed he was, but knowing that he owned...owns... well, is one of the owners of the plane that they used, I think there is more to my brother than I thought."

"True. How long before we have to deliver James?" Mycroft asked.

"Which, just to be clear, we are not doing," John snapped.

"Oh, of course not," Mycroft agreed smoothly.

"They didn't say--" Martin started to add. Then his mobile chimed. He snorted and pulled it out. "A million pounds next time, please. And a puppy. Vee would like a puppy. Midnight. That certainly is melodramatic."

"And it gives us time," Mycroft said. "James, how did they know you were still alive? We've gone to great trouble to keep you out of the public eye."

Jim frowned, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling. Then his eyes widened. "Oh...."

"The embezzler?" Sherlock asked.

"Has to be."

"What embezzler?" John asked. "When was this?"

"Six months ago. When you were at that conference with Mycroft. I had a case come on, and Jim helped me." Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair. "How?"

"You know, they do have these things called telephones, Sherlock. Even in prison," Jim answered. "So... I've been made. I warned you, John."

"It's not going to come to that," John said quickly. Martin frowned, but there seemed to be no explanation coming. Instead, Jim rose from his seat and came over to him.

"If I have to hand myself over to them to keep Liv safe, I'll do it," he said. "You can always come back in after me later."

"Doubtful," Martin said. "If they get you, I don't think they'll keep you longer than ten minutes. You're too dangerous to them."

Jim smiled broadly. "She's told you a lot, hasn't she?"

"I wonder. Maybe not enough?" Martin answered with a weak-sounding laugh. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his head hang. "I... I can't wrap my mind around this. How can this be happening again? It's not supposed to be like this! I mean... first anniversary. Baby's first birthday. First kidnapping? Not something that is supposed to happen!" As he finished, Martin sat up, and realized that Sherlock and Mycroft were both looking at him... oddly. Odd for a Holmes, even. Martin looked back at them, then felt his heart plummet. "It's... not her first?"

"Third," Sherlock said slowly. "Mycroft?"

"Yes. This is the third,"Mycroft confirmed. "Martin, you must realize, you've married into a very powerful, very wealthy family. And we've always been involved in... government dealings. That is one of the reasons I keep such a close watch on the family."

"Yes, yes, I know that. I just... she never told me!"

"I'm surprised at that," Mycroft said. "The first time.. well, she may not remember the first time. She was just three, and we had her back in a matter of hours. The second time..." he stopped, sighed, and looked uncomfortable. "The second time was my fault, I'm afraid. I was careless."

"She doesn't blame you," Sherlock said quietly.

"Perhaps not. But I've blamed myself ever since." Mycroft glanced at Martin and shook his head. "No, Martin. Nothing like that. Not to the extent of..."

"Of what happened to me?" Martin asked. He let out a long breath and nodded. "Thank you. I was thinking that, and wondering. When?"

"She was twelve. And gone for four days. The four longest days of my life," Mycroft said. "I can't give you the details, Martin. Which may be why she hasn't told you -- national security. Suffice it to say, a strong part of her training involves escape and evasion." Mycroft finished, then turned and looked at Sherlock, who looked stunned.

"They know that," Sherlock murmured. "They know about her training, and that is why they're keeping her drugged. How did they find out?"

It was Mycroft's turn to sit down, his eyes wide. "I... don't know."

"If they know that, they know a lot about what is happening inside the department. Which means a leak... oh _, fuck_!" Jim blurted, then clapped his hand over his mouth.

"James?" Mycroft said slowly. "What is it?"

"Sebastian," Jim murmured. "He was feeding me information about the department from the day he came on. You know that. I told you that. I kept all that information locked down, on the laptop that Milverton destroyed. I won't say all of my records were on that laptop, but a good number of them were. That's how they're rebuilding the network -- they're using _my_ information!"

"They cloned the hard drive," Napoleon said. "Before they rigged it to blow up, they cloned it."

"Which explains why it's taken them four years. They had to break my encryption." Jim rubbed his forehead with his hand, snarled, then turned around. "Right. Can we go blow something up now? Because I am really, really pissed."

"Martin, are you sure you want to go?" Napoleon asked, resting one hand on Martin's shoulder. "No one will think poorly of you if you stay. You have Violet to think of."

"You might not think poorly of me, but I'll never be able to look at myself in the mirror ever again if I don't at least try," Martin said. He straightened in his chair, squaring his shoulders. "I'm coming with you."

"Right. Then let's get going."


	7. Chapter 7

 "So this is a... a thing? For the Holmes?" Martin asked. He was sitting at the large table in the Hub, waiting. Sherlock, sitting across from him, arched an eyebrow.

"A thing?" he asked. "What thing?"

"Being kidnapped. Because if it is, I'm hiring bodyguards for Vee."

Sherlock snorted. "They're usually the first suspects."

Martin sighed and put his head down on the table. "Not helping, Sherlock!"

"Our father was... consider Mycroft, only more so," Sherlock started to say. Martin looked up.

"That explains so much."

Sherlock scowled at him but continued, "When we were boys, yes, this was a constant threat. After Papa died, the threats didn't completely fade away -- there was always someone who thought that perhaps he'd told Mummy some secret or other."

"So... may I ask...?" Martin asked, then turned as he heard footsteps coming closer.

"Twice, in my case," Mycroft answered. "Sherlock holds the family record at six. But for some reason they kept giving him back."

"Mycroft!" Sherlock's indignation was almost drowned out by Jim's laughter. Mycroft smiled slightly and looked at Martin.

"The car is ready."

"Are we driving to Manor Royal?" Martin asked. "Because they probably won't be expecting us to fly, not with me just coming off a flight. I mean... legally I can't."

"But you have an idea?" John asked.

"Yes. Carolyn might just strangle me, but I have an idea." Martin pulled his mobile out and dialed.

"Martin! Whatever is going on?" Carolyn demanded. "First you cancel for the Birling Day dinner, then Douglas says you've had an emergency and he's gone off. What is happening?"

"To make a long story short, Livvy's been kidnapped--"

"Good Lord!"

"And I need GERTI. And I need to borrow Herc. Is he there?"

There was a moment of silence, then a man's voice replaced Carolyn's. "Martin? Carolyn is threatening your manhood. She says you have one child, and that's more than enough. What have you done?"

"I need your help. Please. Won't be more than a couple of hours, I think. But I need you to fly tonight."

"I see..." Herc's voice trailed off. "Meet me at the airfield."

#

The first person that Martin saw when they reached the airfield was Carolyn, who rushed up to him.

"Where is Violet?"

Martin froze. "With... with Douglas and Helena. _Why_?"

"Oh. Oh, is that what he wasn't telling me? I was worried, and I called him, and he refused to stay on the telephone or tell me what he was doing for you," Carolyn answered. "I didn't mean to frighten you, Martin. I... would you mind calling Douglas and letting him know I'm coming? Since I've got nothing else to do tonight--"

"I'm sorry, Carolyn. Look, when we get back, once this is all cleared up, I'll send you and Herc off to dinner and a show. On me. All right?"

"Mum? You coming?" Arthur called.

"Just a moment, Arthur," Carolyn called over her shoulder. "And no. I can't let you do that, Martin. This was hardly your fault. Just bring her home safe. Herc and I can have a quiet night at home another night."

"Look, Carolyn, you can insist all you want. I'm going to insist right back," Martin said quietly. Carolyn looked up at him, then sighed and smiled.

"Sometimes I think I liked you better when you didn't have a spine. Then I'm reminded why I'm wrong. All right. Now, I've got to run. Arthur and Molly are driving me home. Or to Douglas' house."

"Thanks, Carolyn. I'll call Douglas now. And I'll call you once I know something."

"You'd better. Now what is going on there?"

Martin turned towards the MJN office and saw Sherlock, standing off to one side with Arthur. Arthur was saying something, gesturing wildly with his hands. John saw Martin looking, shook his head, and Martin realized what it was. "You said that he and Molly were going out tonight?"

"Yes."

"She's here?"

"Yes, she is."

"Ah," Martin nodded. "I see."

"I don't," Carolyn said. "So explain."

"I think that might be the "take good care of her or I'll break your arms" speech," Martin said quietly. "Sherlock is fond of Molly, and I don't think he knew that they were still dating."

"Oh. Oh, I see."

"Could be worse. It could have been Jim giving that speech. And he'd be serious about it." Martin looked up as a tall, handsome older man came out of the office. "Herc! Thank you. Let me introduce you." He turned, saw Mycroft standing nearby. "Mycroft Holmes, this is Hercules Shipwright. He'll be flying us tonight."

"And we'd best be getting underway," Herc said after he shook Mycroft's hand. " Gatwick, the clearances said? And how did you get that kind of clearance that quickly?"

Martin smiled. "We have ways. Come on, let's get the flight checks done. Let's see how well I can imitate Douglas."

"What, letting me do all the work while you flirt with the stewardesses?" Herc asked with a grin. "I'd prefer Martin. Now, what's this I hear about your wife?"

#

Livvy lay still, her eyes closed, feigning sleep. She felt sick and dizzy, and wondered what drugs they had used on her. If they thought she was still unconscious, then hopefully, they wouldn't use them again.

Voices. Men's voices, nearby. Echoing, and strangely. A large, open space -- a warehouse? One of the voices was familiar.

"Look, you never said anything about killing anyone," Simon said. He sounded frantic. "I... I thought we were just out for the money?"

"You losing your balls, Crieff?"

"No! Just... look, he's my brother. Shit, Gordon, I... I don't like this."

"Look, we can't let him go. He's on _their_ side now, and everything we're doing, he can stop." This one was American. "If you want to be the man, you have to beat the man. We have no choice."

"I still don't like it," Simon said. "And what about the others? Her family. That uncle of hers, the detective, he's scary."

"He didn't make you," American pointed out. "It's time to dose her again. You want to do it, or should I?"

"I got it," Simon answered. Livvy heard footsteps coming closer, felt a sharp sting in her hip. The world spun and faded away.


	8. Chapter 8

 Half an hour later, GERTI touched down at Gatwick Airport. As the plane taxied to a stop, Herc looked across at Martin. "Am I staying here or going with you?"

"Staying here!" Martin answered. "If anything happened to you, Carolyn would murder me. Keep the lights on. We won't be long, I don't think." He took off his headset and set it aside, then went out into the passenger compartment. "Do we have a plan?" he asked.

Mycroft opened his mouth, but Sherlock answered first,"Yes. Mycroft is staying here.'

Mycroft glared at his brother, but was cut off yet again before he could say anything. "Absolutely. Mycroft stays here," John said firmly.

"I think you might be outvoted," Martin said. "Stay. Herc will appreciate the company, and you can act as... as rear guard. We don't know if they have someone here or not, and we need to make sure that GERTI is secure. Somehow, I don't think our vegan pilot is going to be willing to shoot anyone if they try to take over the plane."

"Good point," Jim said. "I'm going to be busy the next year or so, cleaning up this mess. I just hope there isn't more than one clone of that computer."

"We can handle it if there is," John said soothingly. Jim nodded, frowned, then smiled.

"Yeah. We can. I know how. I wonder if Mister Solo knows how to write a computer virus? Or if he'd like to learn?"

"Livvy knows how," Sherlock volunteered. "She's quite good at it--"

"Of... course she is," Martin said slowly.

Sherlocl continued as if he hadn't spoken,"She wrote her thesis on the anatomy of a computer virus--"

"Sherlock, I think you've dropped a large enough mountain on Martin, thank you," John interrupted. "Now. Mycroft is staying here. Martin, you said you can get us there without being seen?"

"I said I can get us in without being seen. Getting us there? I don't know the area. My first question would be are there CCTV cameras along the way we going? We know that they've gotten into the Met's system. How can we be sure they're not in Manor Royal's?"

"Is that a problem?" Jim asked.

"Yes. The spells... what they do is make you look past me. You could be looking right at me, but you wouldn't see me. Your eyes would... would sort of slide right off me, if that makes any sense?"

"So... sort of a vision repellant?" John asked.

Martin nodded, pointing at John. "Exactly. And what works on a human won't work on a computer. So if there is facial recognition software running, they'll know we're coming."

"Huh. Interesting. Anthea, what can you do about the local cameras?" John asked, turning to the woman sitting quietly in one of GERTI's seats, studying her Blackberry. She looked up at the sound of her name, smiled, and looked back down.

"Already done. The camera system won't see us at all."

Despite his growing need to _go_ , Martin was curious. "How?"

"As we approach each camera, it will display a loop of the previous thirty seconds. That should be long enough for us to pass. If we stop in front of one of the cameras, it will stop broadcasting until we move out of range. Those kinds of hiccups are normal in the system. It shouldn't raise any alarm." She looked up and smiled.

"And you did all that, from a Blackberry?" Martin turned, seeing Herc standing just behind him. The older man looked amused. "I see there's more to this than Carolyn let on. Do I get to ask questions, or will you have to kill me?"

"Oh, bosh," Mycroft said with a smile. "As if I'd do anything to annoy Mrs. Knapp-Shappy."

"He's afraid she'll hurt him," John quipped. Herc started laughing.

"He's right," he said. "Now, is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just make sure we're ready to leave," Martin answered. "Don't leave GERTI, and don't let anyone on board. I learned that lesson the hard way," he finished ruefully.

"Right. Call when you're on your way back," Herc said. "And good luck."

#

Martin sat in the backseat with Jim and Sherlock, watching as the empty streets of Manor Royal passed outside the window. Anthea navigated as John drove, giving him quiet directions to the address where Martin knew they'd find Livvy. He shifted in his seat, feeling the solid weight of his gun against his back.

"Any idea what we can expect?" he asked.

"Guards, most likely. Based on those schematics, I'd said.... four, maybe five, on the approach we're taking. If we can get past them without setting off alarms, then some unknown number inside," John answered. "Our best plan of attack is to get in, find Livvy, and get out without engaging. We can clean up afterward."

"Or blow up afterward," Jim added. "I'm looking forward to that."

"That might have to wait, Jim."

"Fuck waiting."

"No," Sherlock said, his voice firm. "Right now, our most important goal is getting my... getting our daughter out of this alive. Understood?" He looked at Jim, and Jim nodded.

"When you put it that way. Yes."

Martin went back to looking out the window, then turned back. "Do we have copies of those schematics?" he asked.

"Going to do that pendulum thing again?" Jim asked. "In the car?"

"Not quite. I want to see if I can tell how many people are in there. I've no idea if it will work." He took the roll of papers from Anthea, and unrolled them over his knees, nodding his thanks as Jim helped him flatten the schematics so that they wouldn't roll. Martin ran one hand over the drawing, then closed his eyes and slowly did it again. He frowned, and almost distractedly murmured, "I need a pen."

A pen was slipped into his hand, and he repeated the pass again, tapping the pen down lightly wherever he felt... something. Then he did it again. After the third time, he stopped and blinked his eyes. "I... all right. I have no idea if that was just wishful thinking, or if this is accurate, but... it looks like there are only five people in there, and one of them is Liv."

"No guards?" Sherlock asked, sounding skeptical.

"No one at all on the outside. I'm getting... something. I'm pretty sure that those are people, and I marked those. This one--" Martin tapped the schematics on a spot he'd marked with an 'x'. "That's Liv."

The car stopped, and John turned around in his seat. "We're here. That's the place, across the street. We're out of camera range, if they've got anything on the outside, and Anthea will take care of those once we head in. Martin, are you ready?"

Martin swallowed, looked down at the schematics, then up at John. "No," he admitted, hearing how shaky his voice was. "But let's go. I want my wife back."


	9. Chapter 9

 Once they were out of the car, John looked at Martin expectantly. Martin realized what he was waiting for, and rubbed his hands on his trouser legs.

"Right. I'm not sure how well this will work if we're spread out, so we go in as a group. The spell shouldn't have too much of an effect on each of us, because I'm casting it on us, and we know we're here, but you might find it hard to look at each other for very long. If we stay together, then no one will get lost--"

"You're cute when you babble," Jim murmured. Martin blinked, his mouth snapping shut. Jim smiled sweetly at him. "Nerves. I know. You babble when you're nervous. That's fine. But we should go before someone notices us."

"Right. Right, sorry." Martin rubbed his hands together, closed his eyes, and reached within, feeling the power flow. After a moment, he opened his eyes. "Ready?"

"That's all?" John asked. "No magic words? No..." he waved one hand.

"You've been watching Harry Potter movies again. Real magic isn't wands and bad Latin. It's... subtle," Martin answered. "Try looking at Anthea."

John frowned, but turned to look at Anthea. Martin started to count silently, and smiled when John almost immediately looked away.

"Wait," John said. "Wait a moment..."

"Exactly. Now, let's go." Martin reached back and drew his gun, seeing John do the same. A quick check showed Anthea had put away her Blackberry and drawn her own weapon. Quickly, they crossed towards the building, finding their way to an unattended door.

"Sherlock?" John whispered. Sherlock smiled and stepped forward, lockpicks already in his hand. He stood in front of the door for a moment, then stepped out of the way and let it swing open. There was no one inside, and no alarm was raised. John nodded, slipping inside with Sherlock on his heels. Martin followed, hearing Anthea and Jim behind him. Once the door was closed again, the hall was plunged into near darkness, broken only by dim light coming from somewhere up ahead; Martin caught himself holding his breath, the better to hear anything. But he heard nothing except for the people around him.

Until Simon's voice rang out, "I know you're there, Marty."

Martin froze, and heard Jim's strangled, "How?"

Martin shook his head, then groaned. "I'm an idiot," he answered. Then he raised his own voice, "So, I'm not the only one who inherited Mum's magic?"

"Not hardly," Simon answered. "Come on in. We've been waiting. And you and I have unfinished business."

Unfinished business? Martin frowned, then looked at the others and shook his head. Silently, he grabbed Jim's arm, then waved the others back. In the dim light, he saw John scowl, then nod once before herding the others back down the corridor towards the door. Once they were gone, Martin looked at Jim, who nodded.

"Right, I'm coming!" Martin shouted. He pushed Jim in front of him into a large, open space that reminded him far too much of a year ago. Of Mohini. He stopped, looked around, and saw the narrow bed, and a still-unconscious Livvy. Someone, Martin noticed, had thrown a blanket over her since they'd taken the picture they'd sent.

"Well. So much for not knowing who we meant."

Martin turned at the sound of the voice he'd heard on his mobile, and saw an unfamiliar man coming towards him, accompanied by a man that he did know. At least, by reputation. He'd never actually met Arthur's father before.

"I don't know either of them," Jim whispered, for Martin's ears only. Martin squeezed Jim's arm to let him know that he'd heard.

"This... is a surprise," he said slowly. "Mister Shappey, I'd say it was a pleasure, but I'd be lying."

"The way you lied about Jim Moriarty?" Gordon Shappey asked. It had been him on the mobile, Martin realized. "So, you're the one who's been flying my plane. I hope you've taken good care of it. You have a pretty little wife, Captain Crieff."

"I'd like to take her home," Martin said. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he turned, raising his gun and aiming it at Simon, who laughed.

"Not before I'm done with you."

"Unfinished business, you said?" Martin asked. He heard footsteps and backed away, pulling Jim with him. "No," he snapped at Gordon, who had come closer, his hand outstretched to grab Jim's sleeve. There was a flash of metal in his other hand -- handcuffs. Martin pulled Jim closer, switching his aim to Gordon. "No, you don't get him until I get my wife."

"You turned into a bastard, Marty," Simon said with a laugh.

"According to you, I already was one," Martin answered. Behind Simon, he saw a flash of movement, and realized it was Sherlock's coat. What were they doing? He glanced over at Gordon. "My wife?"

"Simon, go unlock the handcuffs," Gordon said. "Captain Crieff has done what we asked. He can go."

"What?" Simon gasped. "But--"

"Go on," Gordon interrupted. "Now, Captain, if you'll be so kind?"

Martin hesitated, looking over at Simon, who was leaning over Livvy, and did appear to be unlocking the handcuffs that bound her to the cot. Martin licked his upper lip, sighed, and stepped back, away from Jim. Jim looked back over his shoulder, winked, then nodded once and raised his hands.

"You realize you're a dead man, Crieff?" he said without turning.

"Probably," Martin answered. "Yes, I know."

"And that we're neither of us walking out of here?"

"They can't risk me going to the Met," Martin agreed. There were footsteps, coming from behind him. Not Simon's, either. "Which wouldn't be hard, considering who one of my fathers-in-law is."

"Father-in-law?" the third man asked. From his accent, he was American. "And who might that be?"

Martin looked at him, projecting innocence for all he was worth. "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade-Holmes. Of New Scotland Yard."

"Detective-Inspector... Holmes?" Gordon repeated. "Holmes, like the detective?"

Martin smiled broadly. "He's my wife's uncle. Do you really think you're going to get away with this now?" Something poked Martin in the back, and he glanced over his shoulder to see an armed man standing behind him. As he reached for Martin's gun, Martin grinned at him and said, "Oh, hello. Which Weston are you?"

The man blanched and drew back. "How'd he know my name? Shappey, he ain't supposed to know my name!"

"It doesn't matter, George--"

"Of course not, since you're planning to kill us all anyway," Martin finished. "Never mind that you laid a trail that a child could follow. Never mind that now the Met is looking for you. Never mind that now we know what you're doing, and how." Martin turned and looked at Shappey. "I am curious, though. I'm sure Jim is, too. How did you get his information?"

Gordon just smiled. "I'm sure you'd love to know. And perhaps I will tell you, before I kill you both. Now, give George your gun, Captain, and go and have a seat with your wife."

Martin nodded, turning and handing his gun to George. He walked over to the cot, and sat down, trying to act calm. The calm shredded when Simon reached past him and ran one hand down Livvy's blanket-covered thigh.

"I have to say, Marty, she's a looker," he started to say. Anything else he was going to say was lost when Martin drove his elbow backwards into Simon's groin, connecting hard. Simon collapsed in a heap, rolling around on the floor, yowling in pain.

"Nicely done," the third man said. "I told him to keep his hands off her. But they never listen. George, would you take out the trash, please? And Captain, if you'll have a seat?"

Martin sat down and watched as the third man came closer, pulling handcuffs out of his pocket.

"We haven't been introduced," Martin said. "You can't be the other Weston, not with that accent. Are you Walther?"

"Neither, actually. Your left hand, please?"

Martin shuddered as the cuff closed around his left wrist, and the man looked at him before locking the other cuff to the leg of the cot. "Problem, Captain?"

"Nothing I care to share." Martin turned, craning his neck to see Livvy, asleep behind him. Her breathing was oddly shallow. "What did you give her?"

"A simple sedative. She'll be fine--"

" _What did you give her?_ " Martin demanded, getting up onto his knees and turning around, fumbling awkwardly at Livvy's throat. Her pulse was weak.

"Ativan. That's all--"

"Oh, God," Martin breathed. He started patting Livvy's face. "Sweetheart? Wake up. Liv, come on, wake up."

"Captain?"

"She can't have Ativan," Martin snapped. "It... it does something to her breathing. I don't remember what she called it. How much did you give her, and how long ago?"

"Gordon?"

"Two milligrams, and about an hour ago," Gordon answered.

Martin closed his eyes, trying to remember, and was surprised when he opened them to see Jim kneeling across from him. As he watched, Jim pinched Livvy's inner arm, hard enough that Martin winced. Livvy didn't react.

"This is bad," Jim murmured. He looked up. "Look. I'm coming with you. Let's go. You can do whatever the hell you like to me. But you leave them here, and you call 999. Deal?"

Martin looked up to see the stunned look on Gordon's face, and the calculation on the American's. "So... she's important to you?" the American asked.

Jim hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes."

"Good. You can watch her die." He turned away. "Gordon, get the cuffs on him and get him over here."

"What?" Martin gasped. "You can't--"

"You said it yourself, Captain. You're dead anyway."

Jim rose, slowly, his eyes narrowed. "Your accent... you... you're from Texas. Why are you part of this?"

"I was wondering how long it would take you to pick that up, Jimmy. But you don't see the whole of it, do you?" He turned back, smiling. "Then again, Seb always did favor his mom. You said I didn't introduce myself. You're right. Name is Moran. Alexander Moran. You murdered my boy."


	10. Chapter 10

 Moran? Martin thought he knew the name, but he didn't remember from where. Until he saw the shock and pain on Jim's face. Then he remembered the picture that Liv kept in their room, and her telling him about the handsome blond man who had died to save her father's life.

"I didn't kill him," Jim said, his voice harsh. "I... I didn't." He closed his eyes, swallowed, then took a deep, shaky breath. "I swear to you, I didn't kill him. I... I loved your son."

"Bullshit," Moran spat. "I heard about you. About how you used him. About how when you were done with him, you shot him down like a dog--"

"Yes, but who did you hear that from?" Sherlock's voice seem to come from everywhere, and Martin jumped in surprise at the sound. "Let me guess. You received a message from one Charles Milverton, along with the copy of the cloned hard-drive?"

"Who the hell?" Moran looked up, then looked over at Gordon. "Let's just kill them all now and get it over with--"

As the words left his mouth, a cluster of red lights appeared on his chest. Gordon gaped and pointed, and Moran froze.

"Now, are you going to listen?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm listening."

"Good. If you listen, you might learn something." Sherlock walked out of the shadows, stopping at the foot of the cot. "Sebastian Moran was murdered by Charles Milverton. He was shot down as he tried to stop Milverton from escaping."

"That ain't true!"

"It is. I was there," Sherlock answered. "Milverton had kidnapped my brother. He demanded Jim in return for my brother's life, but he never intended to allow any of us to leave. Something similar to your plans, it appears." Sherlock looked around, then moved around behind Jim. "Excuse me, Jim," he murmured, and slipped his hand into Jim's pocket.

"Anytime, sexy," Jim answered. Sherlock snorted, then held up Jim's wallet. He opened it, and took something out that he held out towards Moran. A photograph.

"It's been four years," Sherlock said, walking towards the Moran and Gordon. "Four years, and he still carries this. Four years, and he still visits the grave every Sunday. He isn't lying to you, Moran."

Moran stepped forward and took the picture from Sherlock, looked at it, then blinked and looked at Martin. No, Martin corrected. He was looking at Livvy.

"That... this is her!"

"Sebastian never told you about his other lover?" Sherlock asked casually. "Your son loved her. Loved Jim. And he died saving my brother's life, my life, and the lives of several other people. He died a hero."

"He died!" Moran snapped. "And nothing changes that."

"No. No, nothing would," Sherlock said, nodding. "But you can honor his memory. Would he like this, Mister Moran? What you're doing to people he loved, and who loved him?" He held his hand out. "The keys?"

Moran stared at him for a moment, then asked, "He lied? Milverton lied?"

"Milverton was running for his life when he contacted you. He probably hoped you'd find and kill Jim before Jim caught up with him. Which he did."

"He's dead? Milverton?" Moran looked at Jim. "You killed the bastard?"

"Fish food," Jim called out. "Except for his eyes. I kept his eyes."

"... oh, God..." Martin breathed.

"Keys?" Sherlock asked again. Moran stared at him for a moment, then reached into his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Gordon shrilled.

"Not being that much of a fool," Moran answered. He handed the keys to Sherlock, then looked down at the photograph. "May I keep this?"

Jim licked his lips and nodded. "I have another."

"You did love him?"

"I honestly wanted to die when he died," Jim said soberly. "I... never had a chance to say goodbye, he was gone that fast. I hoped..." he paused, looked at Sherlock. "I hoped that Milverton's last act would have been to kill me, too. So I'd have gotten my revenge, and I wouldn't have to go on alone."

Sherlock met his eyes and nodded, then came over and unlocked Martin's handcuffs. He unlocked the one holding Livvy, felt at her throat, then raised his voice. "Doctor? You're needed."

"I know," John answered. He appeared at a run, dropping to his knees next to the cot and taking Livvy's wrist. "Right. Anthea's called 999, and she's called Mycroft. He wants to know what we're doing with them?"

"What, this lot?" Sherlock asked. "They're idiots. Well, Moran isn't, but he might be useful in cleaning up this mess."

"What?"

Sherlock ignored Moran's question. "The Weston boy has already run for his life. Which leaves Shappey. There's nothing to worry about from him -- he's already ruined."

"He's not the only one left."

Martin heard the growl, recognized it as Simon's voice, and barely had time to throw up shining blue shields before the bolts of sickly red fire struck. Sherlock flinched, backing away from the impact with wide eyes.

"I hate magic," he muttered.

Martin stood up slowly, looked around. And regretted it. His shield had surrounded the cot and the people standing there. It hadn't extended to the other two men. He shuddered, then took a deep breath.

"Get Liv out of here. I have... unfinished business."

No one argued. Sherlock picked Livvy up and immediately headed for the door. Martin sent the shields with them, keeping them under cover until they passed into the corridor and were gone. Then he turned to face Simon, pulling his personal shields up and around him.

"Unfinished business, you said. What unfinished business?" he demanded. He took a step closer, then froze when he realized that the man he was facing could no longer be counted among the sane.

His eyes were dead black, and black veins trailed over his face and hands like vines.


	11. Chapter 11

 Magic addict. Martin swallowed and tried to remember everything that Willow had told him about magic addiction. At this stage, he was more than dangerous. He could bring the entire warehouse down around their ears without even batting an eye, and destroy all of Manor Royal for dessert.

Unless Martin could stop him.

"Why, Simon?" he called. "I don't understand."

"Sure you don't. Mum's darling. Dad's favorite--"

Now Martin was sure Simon was insane. "That was you. I wasn't his favorite. Not by a long-shot!" Martin interrupted. "He hated me."

Simon rambled on as if Martin hadn't said anything, "Now, look at you. _Sir_ Martin. Gorgeous, rich wife. Perfect life. What about us, huh?"

"Excuse me, but I wasn't the one who refused to come to your wedding. I didn't call your fiancee a whore," Martin snapped. "I didn't ignore your very existence since Dad's funeral. You wanted me out, Simon. Not the other way around."

"You never deserved to be in!" Simon shouted. "You weren't a part of our family--"

"Mum would disagree with that one!"

"--and you got Mum killed for it!"

Martin went very still. "Mum died in a car accident. I was seven. You know that!"

"It was supposed to be you! She wasn't supposed to die, you little bastard, you were!" Simon stopped, breathing heavily. Then he smiled and raised his hands. "Now I get to finish what Dad started."

Martin didn't have time to digest what Simon had said before lightning shot from Simon's fingertips, arcing off of the overhead beams. Martin deflected them, testing Simon's strength the way he'd been taught. Not as powerful as he thought. That was good. But... there was a tang to Simon's magic, something he didn't like. Something... Martin went cold. There was blood in Simon's magic.

"Oh, you're good," Simon said with a laugh. "Looks like little Marty lucked into a teacher, too. Didn't have to find his own way. Didn't have to sell himself to learn. Didn't have to sell his soul."

 _Oh, my God._...

"Simon..." Martin called out. "Where's Becky? Where are Kevin and Ginny?"

Simon grimaced, starting to pace, his magic crackling in the air around him. "Gone," he answered in an odd sing-song voice. "All gone. Gone away. I begged her to come back. Begged. I... she was mine. The kids, they were mine. She had no right... but now she's gone. And I've got the power. Enough power to be a man."

Martin felt sick, but he pushed the thoughts away. He'd worry about his sister-in-law and his niece and nephew later. Now... "I'm not letting you kill me. I'm not letting you hurt anyone else." Martin set his feet and started to draw power, letting some bleed off into his shields so that they fluoresced. "You want me? Come and get me. Let's see if you're man enough to beat me."

Simon howled with rage and attacked, his magic lashing out against Martin's shields. But there was no coherence to the attack, and the attack crumbled against the shields without doing any damage. Martin nodded -- if he kept this going, Simon would drain himself dry.

At least, that was his thought until Simon drew the gun. Martin froze, knowing his shields wouldn't stop a bullet. He stepped back, and almost tripped on the cot.

"Good. Now you're scared," Simon snarled. "Now who's the bigger man?"

"Don't, Simon," Martin said, his voice low. "Don't do this."

"Should have been done a long time ago, bastard," Simon answered.

Martin breathed in sharply, and whispered, "So be it." As Simon racked the slide and aimed the pistol, Martin held one hand open, palm up, and watched as it filled with blue fire. He looked up once more and softly said, "I'm sorry, Simon." Then he threw.

The fireball passed through the shields and grew, engulfing Simon completely. As the fire burned and his brother screamed, Martin sat down on the cot and covered his face with his hands.

#

The screaming had stopped, but Martin didn't move. Not until he heard John's voice, calling his name. "Martin!"

"I'm here," Martin called out. "I... I'm here."

"Are you all right?" John asked as he hurried to Martin's side.

"Just a bit of a headache," Martin said. "I... I dealt with him."

"Is he--?"

"Yes." Martin licked his lips and shoved his hands into his pockets. "He was going to kill me. He... I don't know how much of what he said was true, and how much was him going insane. But... I think he killed his wife and his kids. I think he sacrificed them for his magic."

"Good Lord," John murmured. "We'll... we'll check in on them. We'll find out. Come on. Livvy is on her way to hospital. Sherlock's gone with her. I'll take you over, then go get Mycroft."

"All right. I need to call Douglas--"

"Anthea already did. He says not to worry, that Vee is asleep. Come on!" John grabbed Martin's arm and pulled, and Martin let himself be dragged away, out of the warehouse.

#

Her head hurt.

Livvy blinked, and immediately regretted it. What had she drunk? And how much? And... that wasn't her ceiling. She blinked again, and closed her eyes, listening. Hospital noises. What...?

She opened her eyes and turned, seeing familiar ginger hair; Martin was sitting up in a chair next to the bed, his head pillowed on his arms. Slowly, Livvy reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. He jumped, sitting up straight, his eyes wide with alarm. He blinked, then laughed nervously.

"You're awake!" His smile was blinding. "God, Liv... how do you feel?"

"Worst hangover ever," Livvy answered. "What happened?" She looked around again, seeing the IV in her other hand. Then she saw Jim, asleep in the armchair. "Martin, what happened?"

"Do you remember anything?" Martin asked. "The doctors said you might not. That it was a side effect of the Ativan--"

"Ativan?" Livvy interrupted. "Martin... wait. Was I dreaming, or was your brother really in our bedroom closet?"

"It was him? We didn't know." Martin took Livvy's hand in his and squeezed her fingers. "Darling, I realize that kidnapping is an old, established Holmes custom, but don't do that again. Please?"

"I'll try not to," Livvy answered. "Where are we?"

"Manor Royal. About an hour north of London. Vee is with Douglas and Helena tonight, and Carolyn is very cross with me right now."

"Why?" Livvy asked.

"Because I... may have borrowed Herc to act as pilot tonight, to get us here faster," Martin answered, his face coloring slightly. "It would have taken us two hours to get here if we drove. By that time..." his voice trailed off, and he let out a quick breath. "Don't do that again?" he repeated.

"I won't. What time is it?"

"Half three in the morning."

"Then it's your birthday," Livvy said softly. "I'm sorry. I had a lovely night planned for us, and your present and everything--"

"I know. Anthea told me about the car," Martin admitted. "Darling, I know you promised a sports-car for my thirty-fifth, but I thought you were joking!"

"I wasn't. And it's still yours," Livvy yawned and squeezed his fingers. "You'll see it when we get home."

"Which will, I hope, be later today," Martin said. "Liv, I don't need the car. I don't need any presents. All I need, all I want, is what I have. You and Vee. And anyone else you care to gift me with."

Livvy smiled. "I love you, Sir Darling."

"I love you, too." He kissed her fingers, then stood and leaned over to kiss her lips. "Go back to sleep, love."

She looked at him and frowned. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Later, love. I'll tell you later. Go to sleep."

Livvy nodded and closed her eyes, falling asleep with her fingers still wrapped in Martin's.

 


End file.
